Nowhere Left to Run
by geekvsnerd
Summary: John is confused about the nature of their relationship, Sherlock isn't being helpful. Rated M for wandering into dubious consent territory. Fluff at the end. You have been warned.
1. Sherlock is a Dick

Chapter 1

Sherlock is a huge dick, and not in the nice way. They'd been doing this...whatever you'd call it for 3 weeks and after all that time, John still had no idea where they stand. Sherlock has made no sweeping declarations of love, or objected to John's various liaisons, but sometimes John gets the feeling that is flat mate is jealous on some level. Whenever John got too attached to one person or another, Sherlock always managed to send them packing. While John found this annoying for the most part, he also enjoyed Sherlock's domineering attentions. Usually. However, Sherlock could sometimes go too far.

Just the other night, when John was planning to meet Lestrade for a couple of drinks, Sherlock infuriated John by cancelling on Greg and insisting John stay in and help with an experiment. This annoyed John. Really, really annoyed him. It wasn't that he was particularly looking forward to seeing Lestrade, but the way Sherlock swooped in and changed John's plans confused him. John acknowledged that Sherlock had his own take on personal relationships, but to be heedless of John's wishes seemed callous, even for Sherlock. This was hardly appropriate behavior in a dom. Sherlock's first priority should have been John's welfare. Instead of taking care of him, Sherlock seemed to be trying to limit the scope of John's social interactions. John's group of friends seemed to be dwindling to what couldn't be avoided at work, and what Sherlock allowed at crime scenes. They hadn't discussed the parameters of their relationship but John felt a line had been crossed.

Of course, John couldn't just come out and say "Sherlock, you seem to be trying to control my life. Would you please explain why?" The reason being, that John was afraid of what the answer might be. What if John was just amusing Sherlock for a while? Maybe he didn't want the full-time responsibility of a sub. What if, when John had outlived his usefulness, the detective just gave up on him? Sure, they'd had a few good weeks, but John wasn't interested in casual flings, he was quickly becoming emotionally invested in this relationship. Sherlock met his every need without John having to explain things to him. That was, when Sherlock was actually paying John any attention. Lately, Sherlock seemed to have forgotten all about John, burying himself in cases. Occasionally, Sherlock would come up for air long enough to crowd John against an alley wall, or push him into the couch without preamble, spending 3 or 4 minutes pleasuring John before spreading the doctor's legs and shoving into him, then quickly returning to the case-at-hand. This made John nervous and fidgety. How could he explain to Sherlock that, while he enjoyed the attention, the lack of aftercare was seriously messing with his head? John's confidence began to slip, and he started to become depressed, feeling like just another object to be used and then discarded as Sherlock pleased.

More and more, John was coming up with reasons to test Sherlock. Changing plans abruptly, "forgetting" to pick up things Sherlock ask for at the store, ignoring text messages; all in the hopes of getting a rise out of the detective. Instead, Sherlock has been exasperatingly non-responsive. Even when John ruined a load of Sherlock's precious Oxfords, Sherlock simply stared at him for a moment before returning bow to fiddle. Perhaps the subsequent wails issuing from the instrument for the following half hour could have been interpreted at a reproach, but John couldn't be sure. Sherlock often played that way.

Being ignored unsettled John. He usually prided himself on being able to follow Sherlock's motives a good bit of the time, but his actions, his moods, his habits of late seemed utterly random. There were good days, when Sherlock would engage John in conversation, place a hand on his shoulder as John sat at the breakfast table drinking his tea, even ruffle his hair. Other days however, Sherlock would show up unexpectedly and demand John's full attention, often stealing him away from work in order to force John to help collect soil samples or some other seemingly pointless task. If John didn't immediately answer when Sherlock called from downstairs, Sherlock would vault up the steps and barge in on John. Regardless of John's occupation-to say nothing of his state of dress-Sherlock would begin pacing the width of whatever room John happened to find himself in and berate him for his stupidity, his laziness, his general ineptitude. John began to feel more than a little nervous around the changeable detective. He wondered if there wasn't something really important bothering him. Something to do with a case, perhaps? Try as he might, however, he could not get a straight answer out of his flat mate. Until Thursday evening when John found out exactly what was bothering Sherlock.

Thursday evening, John got a call from an old army buddy, Patrick. John and Patrick went way back and each man had saved the other's life on more than one occasion. Get a few drinks John and he was likely to launch into some torrid and fanciful tale about his and Patrick's escapades. John hadn't seen Patrick since he'd returned to London and was eagerly anticipating their reunion. Wearing one his smarter-looking jumpers and a black leather jacket, John descended the stairs whistling. A voice rumbled up from the couch at him as John began searching for a pair of shoes.

"Just where do you think you're going?"

Sherlock lay sprawled across the couch in an attitude of unspeakable irritation. It was as though the whole world had conspired to be as utterly intolerable as possible and John was helping it.

"Down to the pub to see some friends. Patrick is in town. If you hurry and get dressed, you're welcome to come along. I bet he'd like to meet you."

"If you hurry and get dressed" sneered the man on the couch. "I suppose you'd be embarrassed to be seen with me in public, wouldn't you, John?"

John sighed a little and rolled his eyes. "No, I just meant..."

"You just meant that if I put on a pretty smile and a nice shirt, you might let me meet your precious Patrick. Maybe the two of you can concoct a few more stories about 'the good old days' when you were being blown up all the time. The thing you don't realize, John is that neither of us is leaving this flat tonight. I forbid it" Sherlock looks at him from the shadowed recess of the living room with an expression of pure malice before flopping back against the armrest of the couch.

Being a former Captain in the Army, John has learned the correct way to react in situations like these. It was only this training that kept him from striding over to where Sherlock lay strangling that look of righteous venom right off of Sherlock's face.

"Come again?" John asked, a threat just below the surface of his calm demeanor.

Sherlock's face smoothed a little in an attempt at non-chalice. "You heard me. I've decided that you're staying in tonight. I just received something in the post that I need your help in trying out." That did it John was furious. Did Sherlock honestly think he was going to forbid John from going out and having a nice evening with an old friend he hasn't seen in years, simply because he wanted John's help with an experiment? Not bloody likely.

"You know what, Sherlock? Let me tell you something. I am going out this evening, and any other evenings I see fit. I am no one's to order around and certainly, not yours." With that, John stalked toward the door and opened it, composing himself as he began to step down to the first floor.

John didn't see Sherlock rise and grab his cane, but he did feel it as it was wedge between his ankles as he began to trip. Grabbing onto the railing for support, he felt a pair of hands grip the layers of fabric around his shoulders as he toppled back onto his arse. Before he had an opportunity to reorient himself, John was dragged forcibly back into the flat and hoisted into the air. Quickly realizing that he had been slung over Sherlock's shoulder John struggled to regain his footing, but with little result. Sherlock actually managed to carry John into the first floor bedroom and fling him onto the bed, rendering John speechless with fury. Was this from adrenaline or actual strength? Taking little time to ponder how a civilian only 2/3rds his weight managed to pin him to his bed without preamble, John managed a lunge for the door. Sadly, John went sprawling across the floor again, this time with his legs pinned beneath several feet of consulting detective.

"Struggle all you like, if it makes you feel better, John. You're still going to be exactly where I want you by the end of the evening." The words sounded oddly disjointed as John felt a needle pierce his neck. "Now, what were you saying earlier about you 'not being mine'?"


	2. John is Furious

Chapter 2

When John woke up, there was no light coming in from the windows in Sherlock's bedroom. This was odd, since the sun had only just begun to set as he grabbed his leather jacket earlier. He wasn't immediately cognizant of this fact though, because there was a more pressing matter attracting his attention. Namely, that John was tied to Sherlock's bed. Naked. Spreadeagle. Utterly befuddled, John squirmed around, looking for his maniacal flatmate. He was nowhere to be found, but John did see a note propped on the bedside table.

"John.  
I'm just in the next room. Don't bother struggling."  
-S.H.

It was then that John noticed a slight niggling sensation near the base of his spine and...Oh dear God. So that's what Sherlock got in the mail today; a vibrator. Johns first impulse was to thrash around a bit more, trying to see if he could wriggle his way out of his bonds. Sadly, much like anything else Sherlock invested time in, the knots were meticulous. He had no hopes of getting free before the detective wanted him to. So John then settled on a new tactic; If Sherlock was going to pretend John didn't exist, John could pretend there was no Sherlock. Relaxing the best he could, John began counting backwards from one thousand, hoping to get back to sleep.

By 976, John's back began to ache.

By 663, John's nose began to itch.

By 507, John started feeling restless, the vibrator becoming impossible to ignore

"Sherlock!"  
No answer. Typical. John was irritated when Sherlock "forbade" John from going out to see Patrick. He was bewildered and annoyed when Sherlock tackled him to the ground, but now that John realized he wasn't get out until Sherlock let him go, he was furious. Even more maddening was the notion that all John had to do was use the safeword and the detective would let him go with nothing more than a smirk. Maybe he could think of a passable excuse for his tardiness and meet Patrick...

"God damnit, Sherlock! Get in here and untie me..!" Sherlock was leaning against the doorframe. How long had he been there?

"John." the man gloated down at him "Resting peacefully, are we?"

"No, I bloody well am not, you bastard. What's the idea?"

"Idea?" Sherlock stepped casually into the room, eyes drifting over the various curios on his dresser. "You're naked, tied to my bed,..." Here Sherlock runs a finger lightly up one of John's legs and leans in. "...and hooked up to a vibrator. I think the 'idea' is fairly clear."

Despite himself, John blushes. Thankfully, he still has mastery over his voice. "Sherlock..."  
Sherlock straightens up, spinning gracefully on one heel, he turns and takes a slim rectangle from his pocket. "You still don't get it, John. Shall I make it clearer for you?" He holds out his hand so John can inspect what he's holding before walking toward the door. He turns once more and presses a button on the remote. John gasps as the vibrator kicks into life, the pressure so intense it's nearly painful.

"You are not in control. I am. Now let me explain what I'm going to do to you..."

**Oh snap! Another cliffhanger. What happens next?**

**Stay tuned, gentle reader!**


	3. Things Get Kinky

"_Finally._" John crowed to himself "_Finally, he's paying me some real attention_"

John sighed as the vibrator wound down, suddenly he was feeling rather defeated. "Okay. Okay, Sherlock I'm listening." His voice cracked near the end of his sentence as the vibrator whirred again for a moment. "Ahh..." John winces "What are you going to do to me, Sherlock?"

"Everything." The detective's voice was flat. He could have been discussing the weather, or explaining a complicated math problem, but there was an evil glint in his eyes. "John, do you know why this vibrator is so special? You were a little preoccupied when I lubed you up and worked it into your tight..." here Sherlock licked his lips..."hole...What you couldn't tell while you moaned in your sleep, pushing yourself down on my fingers like a twopenny whore, is that this plug is pressure sensitive. If you clench down, it moves harder, if you -try and relax for a moment-there...See? It slows down. But that's not the best part. The thing I like best, is that it's programmable. When it came in the mail today, I hooked it up to my laptop and downloaded a special program. This plug has a range of intensities ranging from the mildly irritating, to the very stimulating. What I've just done is set them up to run automatically. Every 45 seconds, a new interval will start with random levels of intensity, followed by a 15-second rest period. That first taste was an 8, but they go up to 10. I'm sure you'll figure out which is which as time wears on; it will be something to keep your mind busy. The best part is the battery life. It's rechargeable and uses very little power, so I can keep it running for several days, if need be. Plenty of time for you to think through some things."

"Several days?" John choked "what about work?"

"Oh, don't worry. I've called the clinic. You'll be in no shape to work for a bit...unless there's something you'd like to say to me?" A tiny note of hope coloured the detective's voice. John's brow furrowed, letting out a breath as the plug started up again. He glanced up at Sherlock, an expression of pain and confusion momentarily clouding his face.

Seeing this, Sherlock crossed to the bed and knelt beside the doctor, his eyes full of sincere regret. Burying his face in the pillow under the doctor's head, Sherlock's voice was muffled when he spoke: "John, please just give in. Say you'll be mine. Submit to me now and I'll untie you. Let me take care of you. We both know you'll eventually give in. Why not do it sooner than later? I don't want to make you endure this"

Still too lost and angry, John turned his face away petulantly to gaze out the darkened window. Sherlock paused a moment, then rose and straightened his suit jacket. His voice returned to its former steely timbre as he spoke. "Very well, John, I'll leave you to it. You'll find I can be a very patient man when I am put-upon. When you're ready, the safeword is 'baby'"

Snorting at Sherlock's choice of word, John did not turn his head to watch the detective stride from the room. _"I'm a soldier_" he told himself; _"A strong, capable man. I was in the army for Christsake! It was I who gave the orders, men submitted to me. I have known no master but myself and Sherlock is no exception. He'll eventually get bored and come in here and untie me. When that happens, I'll give him the thrashing of his life. Until then, I'm just going to have to wait him out."_

The vibrator buzzed back to life, but was slightly more bearable than the last time; "_Six_" thought John. Remembering Sherlock's demonstration, he began to breath as slow and evenly as he could. Maybe he might even manage to work the thing out if he held still long enough. Yes, that seemed to be working...Suddenly, John was arching off the bed; gasping and flailing. It was worse this time; worse than the first time, even. "_Ten_" He was right on the edge, just one stroke could bring him crashing over the edge. Frantic, John began scrambling for some kind of purchase, any kind of friction that could give him some relief; but there is none in the stale air above Sherlock's bed. John cursed, straining against the straps around his wrists and ankles. They gave a little before snapping back into place, the mattress beneath him groaning in sympathy. Finally, the vibration cut off, giving John a 15 second reprieve. Between gasps and moans, he called out to his flatmate.

"Sherlock!" No answer "Sherlock!"

His breath caught in his throat as the vibrator began pulse again. Eight-ten eight-ten eight-ten...Writhing around on the bed, John began to lose his mind. Seconds became hours in the never-ending deluge of tortuous stimulation. Slipping into a kind of hysteria, John began to thrash around, moaning and yelling nonsense. Alternating between anger and penance, he called to Sherlock.

"Sherlock! Sherlock, get me out of here! I'm warning you, if you don't...SHERLOCK! Sherlock, I can't stand This. Any. Longer...PLEASE! Sherlock, really, let me go! AHH! Sherlock...Sherlock, please. PLEASE! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Let me out..."

Still no answer.

"Where are you? You said you'd be in the next room! Did you leave me here you bastard?!"

It went on like this for a long time. Sometimes, things would slow down to a 3 or a 4, during which time John could catch his breath, plagued by thoughts of Sherlock's pleas to John, tempted to call out to him, to use the safeword. Somehow, though, he couldn't bring himself to use it. When things slowed down even further (to a 1 or 2) poor, overworked John would drift off to sleep. He was eventually so weary, that it took a stronger pulse to wake him. Sadly, the sleep brought him no comfort, as he would dream of Sherlock alternately fucking and smothering him to the point of death, the vibrator never stopping. Then he would wake up, every muscle straining against the straps as the plug whirred maniacally inside him.

Worst of all, throughout the whole evening, not once had John's erection flagged. He had twisted and flexed and bent every way he could, but to no avail. He had tried to imagine Mrs. Hudson in the shower, wrinkly and damp, but even his most potent of tricks did little to help him. After the 15 second break, the plug began to whir, starting at 1 and quickly escalating to 10 and then stopping there. Then the plug finally cut off. John had to get out of there.

Pulling with all his might, John tried to break the straps holding him down. Hearing the headboard creak a little, he began rocking from side to side, trying to fracture the groaning post. What he had forgotten was that in his struggle, he was straining his muscles, putting pressure on the plug. Suddenly, the vibrator was back on and moving with all its might, hitting his prostate again and again. John arched off the mattress in agony, gritting his teeth while he tried to wait it out, but 45 seconds went by, the green numbers of the digital clock next him, ticking over from 2:38 to 2:39 and on until 2:45. Why hadn't it stopped after 45 seconds? Was it broken? Would it ever stop? He wasn't sure how much longer he could stand before...

"Sherlock...Oh God, BABY! I'm sorry, I'll do anything you want just please, get it out!"

Sherlock was beside him in an instant, working with a will to turn off, and ease the plug out before carefully untying John's arms and ankles. Oblivious to his protests, Sherlock gathered John into his arms, holding him as John began to sob.

"Please, Sherlock...I need..."

Sherlock shushed him. Wrapping his fingers carefully around John's neglected prick, he began to stroke delicately, whispering to the doctor.

"It's okay, I've got you. Let it go, I'm here..." Twisting on the upstroke and gently kneading John's balls, Sherlock took great care bringing his lover to release. It took just a few passes before John was pumping into Sherlock's hand, screaming out his name, sobbing into Sherlock's shoulder. John cried, a string of apologies wrung from his lips as he expressed the pain in his heart, as he finally understood. He understood what Sherlock had been asking for, what he'd been promising. John was already Sherlock's, had been since the moment he'd decided to follow the detective to their first crime scene.

"You were right, Sherlock." John gasped quietly

"What's that, John?" Sherlock asked softly, kissing his blogger's forehead.

"I am yours, only yours."

"I know, love. I've always known."

Exhausted, and safe in the knowledge that all was forgiven, John fell fast asleep.


	4. Aftercare

Chapter 4

Hours later, John awoke to find himself wrapped in the duvet, wearing his discarded pants and  
one of Sherlock's t-shirts. To say he was tired would be an understatement. His limbs felt weighted down. The interior of his skull felt as though it was stuffed with cotton, to say nothing of the discomfort in his nether regions . He prayed silently that, in the event of a fire, smoke inhalation would kill him quickly, because he was never leaving this bed. That was, before his stomach growled. Thankfully, John did not have to contemplate leaving the surprisingly plush confines of Sherlock's mattress, as its owner soon came in balancing a tray of food in his arms. Setting it down with his trademark grace, Sherlock crawled in under the covers. John moved to make room for the detective. John ate quietly as Sherlock studies him. When he was finished, he turned to look at Sherlock. Memories from last night flooding his mind. Tryng to think of something to say to explain how he was feeling, he smiled shyly. What words could he employ to express his relief that Sherlock was giving him his full attention? How could he voice his concern that Sherlock would retreat into himself again, leaving John alone once more? Thankfully, Sherlock understood his expression. He smiled nostalgically, moving in to brush his nose along John's cheekbone, lips glancing over his left ear.

"It's all fine, John. I'm not going anywhere."

John turned to look at him suspiciously. Sherlock just smiled tentatively.

"I'm as much yours as you are mine, John." The way Sherlock said his name, sending shivers down John's spine. "There's really no explanation for the terrible way I've acted lately. The easy answer is that I wasn't convinced that you were willing to submit to me. I see now that it was my fault that you were so unsure of me. I'm balls at aftercare, I never realized how important it was until last night. Will you forgive me?"

John sighed and relaxed into the pillows behind him. "Of course I do, you git."

Kissing John softly as he reached to move the empty tray as he scooted under the covers to lie softly atop John. Pillowing his head on John's chest, Sherlock took a deep breath, inhaling John. The musky scent of stale sweat complemented the warm, sleepy aroma of the bed in which John was cocooned. As far as mornings after went, this one was quickly becoming Sherlock's favorite.

"Now. I realize you must be tired after last night, but perhaps you'd like a shower?" Seeing John's sudden look of apprehension, Sherlock chuckled softly into his collarbone. "I also imagine you are quite sore, John. Should you chose to bathe, I promise to be on my best behavior, despite your appealing state of undress." John smiled at this as he stretched as he climbed stiffly out of bed.

After his shower, John considered heading back to his own bed for some more rest, but Sherlock's absence from the lounge made him suspicious. Sneaking back across the flat and into the detective's room, John was met with a surprising sight. Peering around the doorframe, John saw a slight dip in the covers and the very top of Sherlock's unruly curls poking up above the covers. The detective was fast asleep in the very spot John had vacated not 20 minutes previously. Acting impulsively, John slipped in beside his lover. Wrapping one arm under Sherlock's arm and across his chest, John buried his face in Sherlock's hair, sighing contentedly. There would be plenty of time to sort everything out later. For now, John was thankful for the opportunity to listen to the slow, easy rhythm of their synchronized breathing as he slipped easily back to sleep.

**A/N: That's not all folks! I'll be starting Book 3 VERY soon, so stay tuned. This is just the beginning.**

**Special dedication to Skyfullofstars for giving me a little nudge this morning. Sometimes you need a little bit of shove in the right direction. Thanks you, my dear! **


End file.
